


Misconduct

by Detownley



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 19:22:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15541263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Detownley/pseuds/Detownley
Summary: When reader booked an appointment with a swanky lawyer, they didn't expect him to be so attractive. They certainly didn't expect to end up having sex with him. How unprofessional.





	Misconduct

**Author's Note:**

> Lawyer John is a weakness of mine, so I'm indulging in a little lawyer sex. Enjoy!

As soon as you enter the room, you’re greeted by the sight of a very attractive young man in an expensive navy-blue suit. His hair is slicked back and he has a well-kept beard, which you’d never found particularly attractive on a guy until now. You stop in your tracks briefly. You weren’t expecting someone so good looking, and you’re glad you chose to make this appointment. You pull yourself together and close the door behind you.  
“You must be Mr. Duncan,” you say, stretching out a hand for the man to shake as he rises from behind his desk and does the same. His hands are softer than any you’d ever felt on a man, and you can tell he’s not anything like the people you usually associate with, with their scruffy jeans, greasy hair, and cigarette stained fingers.  
“Please, call me John,” he insists, offering you a welcoming smile with teeth as bright as anything.  
“Oh, sure.”  
You’d received John Duncan’s business card from a friend who recently had a run-in with the law; as most of your friends often do. She’d said he was a brilliant lawyer, and that he was charming, too. “He’s a hell of a sweet-talker, but that was fine by me,” she’d said with a wink, offering you a small card with an ornate deep-blue pattern and shimmering gold lettering. It looked fancy and expensive, and the quality of a lawyer’s business card almost always reflects the quality of their service. Wanting someone who was at least semi-competent, you were more than willing to consider calling.  
You take a seat in front of his desk, in an art nouveau armchair that is far more comfortable than it looks. John sits back down, smoothing his jacket as he does so, and pulls his chair forwards, tucking his legs underneath the desk. He skims through your file – a very large file at that – licking his thumb and turning the pages. The room is silent, except for the antique clock ticking on the mantelpiece of a decorative fireplace.  
“Armed robbery,” he speaks, glancing up at you through his eyelashes before returning his eyes to the file. “You’ve been busy. It’s your 4th time being charged with it, I see.”  
“Yeah…” You say, awkwardly raising your hand and running your fingers through your hair. “I’m good at the armed robbery part, but apparently I’m not so great at the running away from cops part.”  
“So you did it, then?” John asks.  
“Absolutely.”  
John looks up from the file and closes it before pushing it to one side. “Well, I appreciate an honest client. It helps me to do my job well when they don’t hold things back from me. I assume you’re pleading guilty?”  
“I dunno. Isn’t that why I’m hiring you? So that you can tell me what to do?”  
“Well,” he begins, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk. “I can advise you, but ultimately, it’s your choice. Pleading guilty would make for a much quicker sentencing, but it’d also be very likely to result in jail time. Pleading not guilty would put you on trial, but it would give me a chance to work my magic and hopefully get you off.”  
You lean back in your chair and cross your legs. “I like the sound of you getting me off,” you say with a smirk. “Legally speaking, of course.”  
John raises his eyebrows and tilts his head to the side, but he manages to keep his composure. “Well, I’ll try my best,” he says, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly.  
You can’t hold back your smile, so decide to break eye contact instead, looking around the room. “This office must’ve cost more than my childhood home,” you say, running your fingers along the smooth, glossy wood of his desk. “So, how much do you charge?”  
“For which service?” He asks, leaning back in his chair and resting his hands on the desk with interlocked fingers. “Getting you off, or… getting you off?”  
You chuckle. “Let’s go with the first one for now.”  
“Well, I charge by the hour. Usually $1300, but I’m sure I could alter the price a little for someone as pleasant as you,” he smiles.  
“$1300? Jesus. For that price, you better be taking me to court in a Rolls Royce.”  
John lets a snicker escape him before regaining his collectedness and rising from his chair. He moves around his desk and walks over to a blue velvet sofa that sits along the wall behind you, right next to the office door. In front of it lays a mahogany coffee table with a gold tray holding a few glasses and a crystal decanter atop it.  
“Maybe I can convince you with a drink?” He asks, selecting two of the overturned glasses and setting them down the right way up before picking up the decanter.  
“Sure, why not? Might be my last one for a few years,” you say, getting up from your chair and joining him at the edge of the room. “Besides, who am I to pass up the offer of expensive liquor?” You smile, taking the glass of whiskey that John has poured and handed to you. The two of you take a seat on the sofa, sipping from the heavy crystal glasses.  
“This tastes like burnt rubber,” you say, pulling a face and wiping your mouth on the back of your hand.  
“It does,” John laughs, pulling the stop out of the decanter and pouring the contents of his glass back into it. “My assistant isn’t much of a drinker, so she has unfortunate taste. You’ll have to excuse her; she tries her best.”  
“She’s excused,” you say, taking another sip.  
“You’re still drinking it?” John asks, raising one eyebrow at you.  
“If it gets me buzzed, then it’s good enough for me.”  
John watches you and licks his lips as you gulp half the glass down. He’s sitting very close, with his legs crossed towards you and an arm behind you, resting across the back of the sofa. You lean back, and John uses his thumb to lightly caress the back of your neck. Your heart sends a sharp flutter through your chest as he does so, and you wonder if he can sense it, because he immediately places his other hand on your leg and begins slowly moving his fingertips up your inner thigh.  
“This is very unethical, Mr. Duncan,” you tell him. “Do you do this with all your clients?”  
“Only the attractive ones,” he replies. He says it with a smile, but you’re not totally sure that he’s joking.  
You down the rest of your whiskey in one gulp and John’s hand remains wedged between your thighs as you lean forward to set the glass on the coffee table. After doing so, you shift so that you’re facing John and, placing a hand on the side of his neck, you kiss him.  
He’s a very good kisser, and although you’ve only known him for 10 minutes, it’s very passionate. He moves his hand from your thigh and places it on your waist, pulling you closer, wrapping the other hand gently around your throat as he kisses you back.  
“I have… protection… in my desk drawer,” he says between kisses, trying to stand up.  
“Don’t worry about that, we’re fine without it,” you say, pulling him back down and holding him in place with a hand on his chest.  
“But-“  
“I like to live dangerously,” you joke.  
“I guess that would account for the armed robbery,” he laughs, smiling into the kiss as you lock your lips with his again. He desperately grasps at your thighs, pulling your leg over him and forcing you to follow so that you’re straddling him.  
“Well, I can do dangerous,” he breathes, unbuckling his belt.

You’d walked into that bank 2 weeks ago, fully expecting the possibility of jail. That’s just the nature of the job. And it had gone bad before; 4 charges, 3 convictions, various injuries, and a body count nearing triple figures. However, never had you ever walked into a lawyer’s office and ended up fucking them in there. Funnily enough, that had never been on your mind during any of your consultations, yet here you are, straddling your soon-to-be lawyer on a sofa that is way too expensive to be wasted, tucked away in an office. Lord knows how many rules this violates, and lord knows if John cares.  
John has already done you the favour of removing the clothes from your lower half and has already unbuckled his belt and unfastened his own pants. Things are moving very quickly, and you’re enjoying every moment of it. You can’t help wondering why you’ve never done this before. Probably because all of my previous lawyers were sweaty, middle-aged men with comb-overs and burger grease dripped down their ties, you think.  
“One moment,” John says, breaking away from the kiss. He leans over and slides the lock across on the door, just managing to reach it with the tips of his fingers from where he sits. “Okay, continue.”  
You run your flattened palms up from his abdomen, over his chest and around each side of his neck as you continue kissing him. You lower them to the knot in his tie, pulling it open and throwing it to the floor. You open the top button of his shirt, but he stops you at the one below it, taking your hands in his and moving them away. You briefly wonder what it is that he doesn’t want you to see, but the thought dissipates as John lifts your top up and pulls it off over your head. He places kisses across your chest, nibbling here and there as he grabs at your hips and grinds against you.  
“Ready?” he asks.  
You bite your lip and nod.  
He pushes himself into you and a gasp escapes your lips. “Fuck,” you whisper, putting a hand against the wall behind John’s head to support yourself as he pushes deeper. He goes slow at first, relishing the look of ecstasy that spreads across your face as your close your eyes and savour the moment. He reaches a hand up and places it around your throat, your neck fitting perfectly into the space between his thumb and fingers, as if it were designed to sit right there in his palm. He pulls you down towards him into a kiss. As he does so, he speeds up his movements, forcing a moan from you which excites him all the more.  
You move in time with his rhythm, rolling your hips with him. After a few moments, he strikes gold.  
“Yes. Yes, right there,” you gasp, instinctively grabbing a fistful of his shirt.  
John continues in that same spot. He looks up at you, watching for your reaction as his thrusts get harder and harder. It’s almost as if he’s trying to push your limits; trying to see how hard he can get before you decide you can’t take any more.  
“You tryna make me cry?” You ask him with a smirk.  
“Do you want me to?” He asks in response, using his hands to grab your waist and pull you into him.  
“You’d have a tough job,” you tell him. “I don’t cry.”  
“We’ll see,” he says, pushing himself in all the way to the base.  
He carries on, hitting just the right spot each time. "If he carries on like this, I’m gonna… Oh god," you think.  
“I’m… fuck,” you tell him, your voice going up an entire octave halfway through saying it. John grabs your hands as you climax, holding them against his own chest and tracing his thumbs over your knuckles. The orgasm ripples through your lower stomach, spreading through your body as John keeps his rhythm going.  
“Holy shit,” you laugh as your legs tremble beneath you. You’d had a lot of sex in your time, but you’d never experienced shaking legs before; you weren’t even convinced that it was something that happened outside of porn, but here you are, shaking like a damn leaf.  
John isn’t far behind you, his thrusts becoming sporadic and jarring as he spills into you with a grunt. You chuckle and lean down to kiss him. He raises his hand to your face once more, wiping the sweat away from your cheek with his thumb as his thrusts fizzle out into stillness.  
“Fuck, that was… my god,” you smile, rolling off him and landing next to him on the sofa.  
“You’ve never climaxed like that before, huh?” John asks.  
You swallow, though your mouth is bone dry. “No,” you reply, shaking your head in shock.  
John outstretches his arm and extends his hand towards you. You take hold of it, interlocking your fingers with his as the two of you stare at the ceiling, trying to get your breath back. You risk a glance sideways at John, who stares up with a smug grin on his face.  
“So…” he begins, turning his head to you. “Did I convince you to hire me?”  
You chuckle. “Okay, Mr. Duncan. I think you’re definitely the right lawyer for me.”


End file.
